


Puma's Fear

by Fantasticly_Anonymous



Series: Lucha Underground: Prince Puma and Johnny Mundo's World Famous Friendship [3]
Category: Lucha Underground
Genre: A Little Español | Spanish, A Little Something Creepy, American Sign Language, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Bathroom, EMT Break Room, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, Emotions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Gym, Hiding From Your Problems, Hiding in Plain Sight, Humor, Locker Room, Poor Johnny!, Poor Puma!, Pre-Salsh If You Squint, Relationship Advice, Slight mystery, The Couch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasticly_Anonymous/pseuds/Fantasticly_Anonymous
Summary: Part One of this series established the friendship between our intrepid leads, as well as touching on Prince Puma's first encounter with the Machine known as Cage.Part Two showed that budding relationship come crumbling down around them through the fault of outside circumstances and misunderstandings completely out of their control. Also we witnessed the follow up to Prince Puma and Cage's first official bout, including the added insult of the misappropriation of the Championship belt.Part Three covers the fallout that comes when a... friend lets a friend down. In a big way. Thank goodness for coworkers.





	Puma's Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I could be wrong, but I think that this addition is the funniest so far. It also includes the most Luchadores!  
> Don't let that throw you though! There is definitely some angst and sadness mixed around in the curds and whey of the porridge that is this fic.

Puma had the pleasure of preparing for his next Cage match on his own. For half the week anyway, as Konnan needed the time to heal.

Puma'd stayed away from anything that'd strain his throat or neck the first day and was glad the boot hadn't left much to any visible mark. The less to explain the better for him.  
... The less there was catching his eyes in the mirror the better too. He needed no reminder of how upside down that victory had gone.

One thing he couldn't figure out about his modified regimen the first day after the fight, was why it included "avoiding Johnny Mundo at all costs".  
Johnny hadn't been the one who tore up, spit on, and stole the Championship belt... So why did it feel like he was.  
Why did seeing him fill Puma with all the same emotions he'd practically drenched his trainer letting out the night before.  
And, oh, it'd been mortifying to wake up hours later, his head slumped against Konnan's shoulder, with **one** hospital blanket draped over the _two_ of them. Someone must have thought they were related.  
He was just glad no one said anything about it. Not even Konnan, when next he'd been up to talking.

Puma'd arrived at the Temple only minutes before noon, taken a milk break, and got to business skipping rope in the gym.  
It was a slow day in there. He saw only Drago for the first thirty or so minutes and had taken a breather to exchange pleasantries.

_"Morning Puma."_

_"Noon is morning for you?"_

_"It is for all the cool kids. Get with the program, man!"_

Puma brought both his hands up near his mouth, fingers configured into the shape of Ls, and pulled them away while bouncing them. Along with a smile, it let Drago know he was laughing at him. Or with him, or whatever. Basically Drago had a funny sense of humor, and he was nearly fluent in American Sign Language, which made shooting the breeze with him especially refreshing.

Puma'd asked Drago once why it was that the scaled Luchador chose to speak ASL and not so much American English.

Drago had made some very colorful gestures which Puma wasn't sure how to interpret, and gone on to explain that human languages were difficult to squeeze out a throat which was designed mainly for roaring and breathing fire.

Puma got that, so he clapped Drago on the shoulder and let the dude go back to eating the rat he'd finally managed to rid the Temple of. Puma taking another gulp from his milk box and musing that Dario'd never need to hire an exterminator as long as Drago was around.

After chuckling roughly in response to Puma's laugh, Drago gave him a fist bump and moseyed over to pummel a heavy bag. For an hour straight.

Ay, that Drago. Puma smiled privately and shook his head in amusement, turning back to his speed rope.  
Before Puma could pick up where he'd left off, he heard steps right outside the gym. He recognized the gait as that belonging to his- to the fighter known as Johnny Mundo.  
Without thinking, Prince Puma gripped his speed rope in one hand and dove behind the practice ring which took up a majority of the open space, quiet as a cat.

"Hey Drago," Drago turned and waved in greeting as Johnny entered the room. "What's so funny? I heard you laughing. Didn't know you did that."

"Yo no se," the reborn dragon ground out, in a voice which sounded almost painful to wield. Inadvertently proving to one or two especially observant Luchadores, that he respected or perhaps even liked Johnny Mundo.  
Drago was extremely sparing with his vocalizations. When they weren't guttural growlings anyway, and some speculated that he wasn't even aware of those half the time.

"You don't know. How can you not know? _You_ were the one laughing!" Johnny slapped one of his own knees with his free hand and tried not to snort at that reply. Oh, wait! He had something important to ask.  
"Hey, you seen Puma anywhere today? I brought enough lunch for two... Or three, if you want in on this?"

Drago was _so_ over that conversation. He flexed his nearly clawed hands and gave one of his infamous low growls as his only response. Then he turned to the heavy bag and laid into it, glad to have an opponent so inanimate that it literally couldn't fight back.

"... Okay, I'm gonna check the cantina then..." Johnny knew better than to disrupt Drago's special time with his heavy bag, so he about-faced and made his way down the hall and through the locker rooms to the quaint little table, chairs, tube television, and similarly ancient refrigerator, which made up their refreshments room.  
He opened up one food container, wondered where Puma could be, hoped for the twentieth time that day that he wasn't in the hospital, and started chewing.

Back in the gym, Puma was straightening from behind the full sized wrestling practice ring and sniffing the air to get the scent of whatever food Johnny'd brought to work. Is smelled vaguely spicy.  
He was able to catch Drago's eye between a couple of complicated combinations the horned Luchador was working the kinks out of on his unmoving target.  
Drago did him the courtesy of pausing his merciless onslaught on the heavy bag to give him a few more seconds of his time.

 _"I O U,"_ Puma spelled at him.

 _"He bothering you?"_ Drago asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction Johnny'd disappeared not long ago. Laden with aromatic food. Which he'd offered to share.

Puma shook his head for more than one reason and got back to his speed rope exercises . Leave it to Drago to sign the darnedest things.

After a few seconds of quick changes and close to the ground skipping, Puma realized that Drago's chuckle had been the only part of their conversation that had the potential to be overheard from outside the room. Man, ASL was awesome! Because of it, Johnny was completely unawares that anything but creepy laughter was going down in that gym.  
Probably couldn't even hear the whir of his speed rope if he was standing four feet away, on account of the poor heavy bag being beaten to a pulp.  
Oh, wait. If that were the case, then Puma might not be able to here Mundo's approach either.

Prince Puma distracted himself enough with that thought that his right foot missed the next switch up and tripped up the entire routine.  
He stumbled but didn't fall. His throat gave a pang from being tightened along with most of his other muscles, but at least he hadn't face planted like some noob who's never touched a jump rope before.

Drago, without stopping his lower body blows on the heavy bag, gave a short growl and twitched his chin in the frazzled Luchador's direction. As if to ask whether Puma was alright.

Puma shrugged and put one hand in front of himself, palm facing the floor, and teetered it in the universal hand gesture for, "Más o menos." Or, if English is more your thing, "More or less."  
He was gonna have to figure this thing out on his own. No offense to Drago, but a proud Puma like himself didn't need a mythical creature taking an interest in his personal business, thank you very much. Over complicated was over complicated enough for him already. Throwing magical elements into the mix wasn't gonna help anybody.

He finished up his jump roping with some slower skips to bring down his heart rate, then stowed the rope where it wouldn't get itself misplaced _again_ , thanks a lot Son Of Havoc.  
That taken care of, he sat on the practice ring's apron and sipped from a water bottle, rather gingerly, for a minute or two. Giving himself a little breather to mull things around in his head. The percussive beating of Drago's fists almost the metronome to the melancholy melody of his thoughts.

Puma was yanked out of his funk by an incensed snarl, barely a step down from a roar. Popping to his feet, he was treated to the sight of Drago, the proud técnico, grabbing the battered heavy bag around the middle and _lifting_ it at just the right angle that it came unhooked from its one mooring.  
Puma knew better than to draw attention to himself by trying to put distance between himself and a Drago who looked like he was in hunting mode, so he stood still and witnessed the supernatural Luchador balance the entire bag in his embrace, then body slam the thing so hard one of its seams ripped. A frankly blood curdling death screech accompanied the maneuver, and only once Drago's claws had dug deep holes and tears into the flesh of his "opponent" did Puma start backing to the side and away.

Maybe this was how Drago managed to not kill anyone in the ring? Worked out most of his predatory aggression on the gym equipment and brought only his Luchador aggression to the ring.  
Well, now the Underground Champ knew why it seemed as if there was always a new heavy bag hung when he came in to pound it. Who knows, there may have been more fighters than just Drago who regularly reduced it to not much more than a pile of sand and shredded leather.  
Though, Puma had some pretty solid doubts about that. This disturbing an image would definitely have made it into the Temple chisme if anyone else had borne witness before now.  
Maybe Drago was super ticked about something?

As if responding to the thought, Drago ceased his low snarlings, turned just enough to get Puma in his line of sight, and gave a friendly smile.  
Perhaps he was reassuring his coworker that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with this stupid, aggravating heavy bag!  
Puma wasn't sure how to react nor respond. He wasn't frightened, per se. No, it was more the emotion you might think a deer in headlights might be feeling. Something like: Oh geez man, that's bright. I wonder what that could be? Maybe Bigfoot got her hands on a flashlight again. Or maybe this is what Ma was talkin' 'bout when she said, "Remember kids, if you're ever in a dark tunnel, don't go towards the light." Guess I'll just stand here and find out.

"Drago!?"

Both the Luchador in the gym snapped their attention to the entrance, through which the call had bounced. And by the sound of those long strides, it couldn't be anyone other than Johnny Mundo!

Again, Prince Puma didn't think. Just dove. Although, being already right about behind the practice ring, it was more like a fast crouch than a full body dive.

Johnny skidded into the room too flustered to register that there had been the vestigial air ripple of movement behind the ring that was kept in the gym. Instead, Drago held all of his attention.  
The two stared at each other, Drago from his crouch above his "kill" and Johnny from just inside the doorway, both going for subtlety in their heaving to catch their breaths.

"Hrm," Johhny cleared his throat. "Hey, Drago. Um, thought maybe something... dangerous might've been going down, but it looks like you have everything under control. I'm gonna..." Johnny tried to stow his incredulous expression, but it kept springing back onto his face, so he gave up and just let it be, "put away the rest of the food so it doesn't, uh, die. Huh. Did the bag look at you wrong?"

Drago's head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed, almost reminiscent of a large bird of prey. Except way more intimidating. Cause he was the size of a small dragon.

"Okay... I can help you hang a new one in a minute. Be right back." Johnny took off for the cantina before things could get any creepier.

Drago gave a snort, kinda sounding like a horse, and inched himself to his full height.  
Puma did the same, without the snort, wishing he knew why it was that he was again hiding behind the ring instead of facing things head on. Then he saw Drago inspecting his own hands, looking as if he might be disappointed that they were covered in sand dust and not... something gorier.  
Puma gulped, then winced.

Drago turned at the sound and raised his hands, palms up, and teetered them a few times. _"What?_ He asked, as if everything he'd just done _wasn't_ the weirdest stuff anyone'd ever seen.

Puma indicated Drago's entire body with a gesture sweeping from head level to knee height. Then he remembered that the cantina wasn't all that far away, and that he really must be going now.  
_"See you later. Gotta dash,"_ Puma said, starting to hop in place as if he were warming up for a jog.

 _"You're running away?"_ Asked a perturbed Drago.

_"Tactical retreat, brother."_

_"But, we aren't brothers,"_ Drago's last sentence went unseen by the Prince, as he'd already turned mid hop and was scrambling out a little used side door.  
Drago was concerned. Now he'd need to ask around, not here at the Temple though, whether there was the possibility that somewhere back in his lineage, a Dragon and a Puma had loved each other very much.  
Considering he probably would have heard something that impressive by now... maybe Prince Puma didn't mean it literally.  
Drago waved his arm at that practically forgotten door in a "whatever" fashion and turned back to the decimated heavy bag. He had several seconds to _kill_ until Mundo would be back to ruin his fun. Heh heh.

 

Puma knew what lay beyond that door. He'd been there before and he'd be dragged there in the future. It was: the all but neglected, unless extenuating circumstances required someone tread foot there, the EMT break room. Yeah, not that bad really.  
Just; in a Temple full of thugs, Luchadores, and legends, taking advantage of the medical staff was generally viewed as a weakness. Unless of course, you crawled there by your fingernails while bleeding, or the medics took you in there themselves because they didn't want you to die.  
All the fighters were pretty sure that if one of them died on the EMTs' watch, the medics would experience a, hrmph, dock in pay.  
The trio of medics must have liked how the odds were improved in their favor by the fact that they were contracted mostly to be there for fight nights.

Puma shook thoughts of the superstitions of the locker room out of his ear and glanced at the mini fridge, glad that it was a secret to the other fighters and that they all were still in the dark about his extra milk hiding place.  
Not that anyone ever stole his milk. He was just protective of it.

Puma sat on the big, comfy sofa and sighed. He would have hung upside down off the side of one arm rest and started up a rep of sit-ups, but he'd promised himself he wasn't gonna _try_ to cause his throat pain the first day back.  
Instead, he worked it with a breathing exercise and allowed his mind to drift.  
Probably not the best idea, in all honesty.

After the breathing exercise, he had the thought of curling up and taking a nap, right where he sat.  
Yeah, it'd be just like that time a week or so ago when- an image hit him hard enough that he felt that punch to the gut Cage'd given him all over again.

Puma sucked in a breath and sprang off the couch, putting some distance between himself and the memory.  
He left the room, trying not to look back and definitely not at the couch, for fear that he'd see himself laying on it, a smiling Johnny Mundo close at hand, joking and swapping stories for as long as Puma had been able to keep his eyes open.  
That had been the spot where they'd first admitted the existence of a friendship between the two of them. Where Puma had finally made... a friend. Or, at least, he _thought_ he had.

Oh geez, his eyes were starting to sting. Where does one go when they don't want to be seen crying? A good place to collect yourself so you don't cry in the first place? Right: the bathroom!

Good thing it wasn't far. Puma didn't want to chance bumping into anyone and having to make up a story about dropping a weight on his foot or being really _really_ hungry. It wasn't likely anyone would believe those anyway.

As expected, the filthy, no doubt sanitation code breaking, baño was empty. So Puma shut himself in the closest stall, closed the toilet lid, gave it a good wipe down with some toilet paper -did no one clean these things!?-, and sat himself down. He was not moving until he had a handle on these runaway thoughts.  
It wasn't cool for the reigning Champion to keep hiding and running from something that wasn't even threatening to end his life. So he was gonna knock it off and face this thing-

Footsteps approached, and by the sound of it, someone had a mighty need to access the facilities. Uh-oh. Those were Mundo's "I really need to go" steps.  
With no time to bolt and nowhere to hide, Puma did the only thing that made sense: he scootched until his back was flush with the toilet's water tank and pulled his knees up to his chest. Then he hugged them tight and made his breathing as quiet as possible, thanking his lucky stars that one of the faulty toilets in there made a perpetual hissing noise, over which only _most_ noises could be discerned.

Johnny entered the restroom and tried the first stall, unaware of the crouching Puma inside, nor that he nearly gave said Luchador a heart attack when he rattled the door a second time.  
Must've been his favorite stall.

"Hm. Out of order, I guess," Puma heard Mundo mumble to himself. Then he felt the shadow of a six foot plus body pass the crack in the door and hoped against hope that it didn't pause to peak in.  
Puma didn't relax an iota as the second stall's door shut and he heard the unzipping of a fly, followed by no fewer than forty seconds of what sounded like a healthy flow.  
He could see Mundo's sneakers underneath and on the other side of the partition. Could feel his own throat and stomach protesting his stealth position, saying, "Ouch. You better straighten out, and straighten out fast! This fetal position is _not_ working for us. I got injuries! Uh, _we_ got injuries."

"Ah," came a sigh of relief -Haha, relief-, then the sound of the zipper going up, and that was likely a button being done. The toilet was flushed, the narrow door was opened and the stall exited. That same shadow darkened Puma's space for a moment, then the sink was being used and the Champ couldn't help using the crack between the door and the partition to peak at his reason for hiding.

"Puma?"

Puma froze. Even his eyes stopped right where they were. Peering at the reflective surface of the dingy mirror above the sinks, seeing Johnny Mundo's face, worry making it appear grim, looking... back at him?!

"Wherever you are..." 'I hope you're fine', were the finishing words that went unspoken, stuck behind a roadblock in the mind of Johnny Mundo.

Johnny was a Premiere Luchador, but crack gumshoe he wasn't.  
Puma went undiscovered as Mundo flicked his hands kind of dry, unconsciously balled them into tight fists of concern, and trudged, presumably, back to the gym.

Puma stayed still as the dead as he watched Johnny Mundo's reflection leave the restroom and turn down the hall. He gave it a thirty count before deciding that the coast was indeed clear -who ever returned to the bathroom anyway?-, and released a shaky breath he realized he'd been holding since Mundo'd spoken his name aloud.  
Puma had no idea how to interpret what he'd just overheard and overseen. Aside from the rather obvious fact that Mundo was thinking about him, and that could be any number of things between sweet, sour, and really _really_ creepy.

Puma also realized that his face was cuddling his knees. When had that happened? His arms and legs were trembling with what must have been adrenaline and... great. His shoulders were beginning to shake.  
Why was this happening? Is this what it was like to have friends? You have a good time- a _great_ time hanging out and... helping each other reach things on the top shelf one week... Then the next you're hiding from him and crying in diseased bathrooms. Curled up on a toilet seat.

Puma hiccuped involuntarily, winced as that hurt his throat, and mused that this was probably the most pathetic he'd allowed, if you wanted to stretch the definition of _allowed_ , himself to end up in... quite a while. Or maybe since the night before?  
Now that he thought about it, he had no idea which was sadder: Crying on your trainer in the not quite emergency wing of a hospital when _he_ was the one with brand new stitches, or hiding from the world- the _Mundo_ and crying alone for reasons even less understood than the last time.

Maybe he'd give them a tie. This probably shouldn't be a contest anyway. There definitely wasn't gonna be a prize, so what would be the point?  
Besides, what would the officiator of such a contest _say_?  
"Alright! Lucha Underground Champion Prince Puma, which of your recent and closely spaced break downs was the most embarrassing? Which involved the most heart wrenching display of water works? Any of them come on suddenly in the middle of a crowd? Extra points if someone else started crying in response! Don't skimp on the details!"

Puma was glad that that wasn't an actual... thing. Otherwise, out of all the Luchadores in the Temple, he'd probably win.  
Naw, he'd definitely win.

Feeling about as miserable as... Well, feeling miserable, Puma decided that enough was enough, darn it!  
He pulled his arms loose from 'round his legs, uncoiled himself into an upright stand, and shouldered his way out of the bathroom stall. He walked to the nearer sink and soaked his entire head with cool water, making sure to soak his mask through. Not caring at all that that was a pretty good way to ruin a leather mask.

On the plus side: No one would be able to tell he'd been crying like a baby! That might be worth the sacrifice of one little Lucha mask, in the long run. Considering this was a very competitive sport. You never know when folks could be searching their co-workers for weaknesses that might help them out in their next head to head in the ring.  
Got a limp? Which leg? Oh, okay, now they know exactly which body part to focus their wear down tactics on while Striker and Vamp comment about their _amazing_ strategy. Heehee!  
It was a competitive sport.

And he wasn't all that worried about the mask. Probably a little reconditioning and it'd be fine. Ish. Konnan was gonna be mad at him, wasn't he?

Setting those worries aside for later inspection, Puma figured he should leave the bathroom as soon as possible. Although, if there _were_ diseases floating around in there, he'd probably spent enough time on that toilet to contract them. Twice over. Hopefully he was immune.

Puma cat walked down the corridor, hearing a brand new heavy bag being shared by two people, and it sounded like Mundo was egging on a dragon to hit it, "Harder!". Puma never thought he'd hear the day.  
He had to whip his way passed the door and in the process, caught a split second snapshot of one large person shaped blur holding the newly hung bag in place, and a serpentine shaped blur hitting said bag **hard**.

Puma was pretty sure the both of them were thoroughly preoccupied. He was in the clear, and it wasn't likely they'd be able to tear themselves away from the intoxicating smell of fresh out of the wrapping leather, so his walk to the locker room was more relaxed.  
Why he was heading to the locker room, he couldn't say. Just felt like the next logical place to haunt. Maybe someone had left some light weights in there. Again, _thanks_ Son Of Havoc.

Puma gave the locker room a quick sweep and came up empty. Couldn't find a darn fishing weight in there, let alone something that could actually help him work up a sweat.  
He was about to call it a calisthenics only day when he realized that he could legitimately call it a recoup day. One which included a good speed rope session. Not to shabby when you look at it that way.

Puma turned one-eighty, still not sure what to do with the rest of his day, then stopped in his tracks. That duffel bag hadn't been there seconds ago! Ghost! Poltergeist! It had a horrid black face and- oh wait: that was just Sexy Star standing under a flickering light. Phew. La masacrara de la fantasma she was not. In the only locker room in the Temple though, she was. She appeared busy with the last of her hand wrappings though, must've been doing them while walking in, and hadn't yet looked over in the Champ's direction.  
She was gonna have to strong arm the other two off the heavy bag if she wanted a turn at it any time in the next few hours. Although, maybe the speed bag was her speed today? Or maybe some high flying rope practice. Though, that was not easy without someone to spot for you.

While Puma stood there, wondering what it was Sexy Star was planning on doing with that almost excessive bulk of tape around her knuckles, Sexy finished off and glanced around the poorly lit locker room. Seeming satisfied, she inspected her tape job once more. Grinning a bit at a space on her palm where the crisscrossing layers made the outline of a vaguely star shaped pattern.  
Within three seconds, she'd realized something was amiss and double took straight into the rest of the locker room.

"Puma?" She set her roll of tape on the bench by her duffel bag. Yeah, they needed some new lights in there. Could barely see a Sexy Star or Prince Puma ten feet away. If they weren't careful, people could easily get jumped, and that's no way to engender love or loyalty to a job. What was Dario thinking?

Puma waved and tried to affect a casual air, realizing a little late that he never acted casual and that, for him, casual was probably more of a red flag than just sitting on one of the benches and staring off into space. Daydreaming about high fat content, silky milks that he'd seen on TV. The food channels were _not_ his friend!

As Puma should have seen coming, Sexy narrowed her eyes at his display of nonchalance and came a little closer. The better to see you my dear.  
Puma, for his part, didn't run away.

"Cuál es el problema?" Sexy asked. Puma, against his better judgment, attempted to reassure her with an offhanded shrug. Hissing might have thrown her off the trail better.  
"Has estado llorando? You been crying?" Sexy's English was rather stilted, but she'd just remembered that she was practicing for her American audiences' sake and she wasn't gonna take the easy way out just because she knew Puma understood Spanish.

Puma's cool, calm, collected and totally fake persona dried up in an instant and he was left floundering. Like a fish pulled from deep water onto a bank, he shook his head as if that might save his hide.  
Then he remembered that he had hands, so he told Sexy that he'd simply decided that his mask needed a wash... and that he'd forgotten how you're _supposed_ to wash a Luchador mask. Um, no. This was an accident- a _freak_ accident, involving a bucket of water over a partially open door... Sexy didn't understand ASL.  
She also didn't react to what must have, to her, seemed an entertaining game of charades.

"Don't try to deny it. You know the origin of Sexy Star. I know what crying eyes look like," she insisted, speaking the last sentence softly and coming close enough to offer comfort. "I also know that crying can be good for you, not shameful. So hold your head high," Sexy said, bringing a flat hand up under the chin of Puma's hanging head and lifting.  
"You'll feel better that way." She gave him a smile and held his gaze until she got an eye wrinkle from him that was banked in positive emotion, then she backed off to a more casual distance.  
"Of course, there must eventually be closure. Crying has a place, but so does beating your problems with iron fists until they tap out," said with a fierce determination which made her whole persona seem somehow transformed.  
Like a harbinger of death being woken from a thousand year slumber. Cranky, hungry, and with a crick in the neck the size of Staten Island.

Puma raised his hands in a fusion of the "calm down" and "give me a high five" fashions, and gave a pinched smile. Sexy noticed after a second and must have thought he was just reaching toward her, because she swooped under his arms and squeezed his upper body as if going for a take down.

"If you need anything, just let me know. Alright?" She peered at his eyes through the holes in her and his masks. He gave a hesitant nod, thinking to himself that he probably _wouldn't_ , considering Sexy might just bring pain and destruction to any "problem" he brought to her attention.  
"Bueno." She gave him another squeeze, and he could feel the security and comfort she was channeling through to him, but it was fettered by just how righteous her passion for justice was. He was trying pretty hard not to be intimidated. She _was_ offering **help** , after all.

Sexy Star relinquished her grapple and took control instead of his shoulders. There were probably six different ways she could lead into a combo and flip him into a locker from there, but her expression was one of compassion, not malice, so Puma felt his body relax under her intent gaze.

"If you want, I can go and get Johnny for you. You have been close the last weeks." Puma hoped his face didn't noticeably blanch at the suggestion, he didn't want Sexy on a hunt for justice in his place of work, no thank you.  
"Or is this a problem _between_ the two of you?" She was too perceptive! Or Puma was too obvious. Either way, he wasn't about to answer that question. No way.

Sexy cocked her head and gave a knowing grimace. "If that Mundo has anything to do with this," she indicated his rather soggy mask with one hand, "he's gonna have to answer to-"

Puma cut her off with a desperate shake of the head. She studied him, the pleading in his eyes confusing her as to whether he _really_ needed some outside help, or whether this was something he just needed to figure out on his own.  
Sexy Star must have decided that, either way, he was younger and less experienced than her and obviously had need of another hug. Because she pinned him with one. A gentle, you'd think she was related to and _actually_ **really** cared about her little hermano, type hug.

"Don't worry, Gatito. If you and Johnny are meant to be, if you love each other very much -and respect each other, and want each other to be happy, and know how, or _learn_ how, to settle things reasonably, not coming to fights and blows-," she pulled back to use one of her hands. Rotating it as if to say, 'and so on, and so on. You get the idea, I hope.' "Then nothing will get between you two for long."

Sexy stepped back, shoved her roll of hand wrapping tape into her duffel and shoved that into her locker. "But if that gringo ever makes you cry again, let me know. He's my age; he should know better," the conspiratorial wink tacked on the end didn't reassure Puma the way it was surely supposed to.  
He sent back a clumsy approximation of her wink, and watched her blow him a kiss and walk off in the direction of the gym.

When Sexy was out of sight and earshot, Puma leaned his shoulder against the nearest locker and took a deep breath. Glad that _he_ had never done anything to attract the Star's ire.  
So, what Sexy was saying, is that violence _is_ often the answer, but not if the problem was a... friend.  
Hm. Nope. He didn't get it.

After a few moments though, the realization dawned that Sexy's... caring advise had left him not only spooked, but warmed as well. To know that there was someone in the locker room who he just might be able to count on in a pinch, outside the ring at least, was bolstering.  
He wasn't sure whether he _should_ count Drago, considering any help the Luchador could offer might very well end with someone **dead** , but Puma was reminded all the same that his ASL buddy _had_ had his back earlier.  
Hm. With coworkers like these in your corner...

Puma gave a start at the sound of yelling bouncing in the door. He relaxed when he realized it was coming from the gym and that the voice belonged to Sexy Star. And that she was yelling in Spanish at a couple of "loco Luchadores" who wanted to have the bag to themselves for the _entire_ afternoon?!  
Yep. Strong arming underway. Otherwise, Mundo and Drago would probably beat the poor heavy bag until it sagged, lay it out on the floor, and sleep on it, before letting anyone else have a turn.  
Some pretty strange things happened in that Temple.

Puma couldn't help smiling at the sound of Drago trying to growl his way into another three hours with the piece of gym equipment. Sounded like Sexy was gonna come away with a win on this one. Good for her!  
Drago needed to learn how to share anyway. That must not have been a thing wherever he grew up.

What Puma had not considered might happen as a result of the two being kicked off their favorite play toy, was that they might just want to retreat and regroup in the locker room. It clicked in his head that they were indeed coming in there almost too late.  
He jumped over to his own locker, thumbed the combo, jerked the grated door open, and slipped inside the space. Which he was disappointed to find, was not designed with full sized Pumas squeezing inside in mind. In fact: the door would only shut enough that it obscured his presence. If someone came close, they'd realize it was a few inches from flush.

There was no time for anything better, as Mundo and Drago were turning into the locker room just as Puma managed to make his leftover foot disappear behind his locker door.

"I still think we could have taken her, Drago! We're taller than her!" Johnny Mundo's confident, joking tone rang through the seemingly empty room.  
Puma could see through the grate his face was practically smooshed against, that Drago didn't appreciate the humor. In fact, the dragon man appeared relieved to be in one piece.

 _"Live to fight another day."_ puma had to try hard not to snicker at that one. Classic Drago.

"Uh, yeah. You're right: only fight if you're getting paid. Words to live by," Johnny said in reply, seemingly able to pick at least the word 'fight' out of the ASL he was by no means fluent with.  
Drago seemed impressed.

Mundo sauntered over to the locker with a picture of the planet earth taped to it and pulled out a towel, which he slung around his neck.  
Drago, to Prince Puma's terror, took a step in his hiding places' direction and _sniffed_ the air. Multiple times.

Mundo noticed by the third repetition and couldn't help asking, "What ya smellin', Drago?"

The masked Luchador took one more step and sniffed again, his head held higher that time. Puma held his breath, then nearly fell out of the locker altogether when a pair of iridescent eyes locked with his. He felt weak in the cramped knees the whole two and a half seconds that Drago stared into his soul.

"Nada," Drago growled as he turned to face Johnny Mundo, letting Puma go undisturbed once again.

"Nothing? That's a whole lot of intense sniffing over nothing!" Mundo walked over to where Drago was just staring back at him and made a show of sampling the air with his inferior human nose.  
Puma made a mental note to thank Cueto for never replacing burnt out lights when Mundo's eyes skated right over his clandestine coffin, the tall Luchador still none the wiser.  
"Well, I guess it really was nothing. Heh, you're a whole lot of fun, Drago. I'll spar with you anytime! Just let me know," Johnny said, clapping a hand to Drago's shoulder.

Though he didn't look especially excited about the offer, Drago executed an excellently human looking smile and nodded. Then, because Mundo hadn't taken his hand back yet, he added a gravelly, "Gracias."

"You're a riot, man! I'll catch you later!" He called as Drago slipped passed him and out of the locker room altogether. No one knowing whether he'd gone in there looking for something and not found it, or if he'd just sort of followed Johnny in 'cause he was bored, and left when it turned out he was kind of annoying.

Johnny sighed. Alone again, his mind came back to its constant subject of worry: the well being of his friend, Prince-

"Puma?"

Again, Puma nearly fell out of the old locker.

"I hope..." 'you're doing fine.' Again, the latter half of Johnny's musing was internalized. He lumbered back over to his locker, the one with the picture of el mundo taped to it, wiped the sweat off his face with the towel 'round his neck, then whipped the thing off and shoved it back inside the compartment.  
He looked as if he might slam the narrow door, but at the last moment, his bunched muscles relaxed and he closed it with more tenderness than one might think the fighter possessed.

Then he heaved a huge sigh, brushed his hair back from his shoulders, and exited the locker room. His shoulders and mind seemingly weighed down by... Who knows what?

Puma uncrunched his not insubstantial frame out of his locker, paused before closing it behind him, to make sure the coast was clear, and stole away from the room. Hoping he'd never need to use one of those darn tight squeezes as a hiding place again.

He climbed up into the attic, deciding that no one in their right mind was gonna find him up there.  
He was pretty sure about that because the only evidence of human activity he'd ever found up there was in the form of some weird shrine, dedicated to someone named "Maestro". Littered with funky black candles, animal bones -at least, they _looked_ like animal bones-, and more than one five sided red star which appeared to have been hand smeared onto the floor.  
Puma felt fairly confident that whoever'd put it there was in their _wrong_ mind and therefore the only person aside from himself who might venture up there. Without there being a leak that needed fixing.

He spent the better portion of the afternoon up there. Admiring the newest additions to the creepy little altar -He really liked the freshly bleached bird skull. Nice touch.-, and zoning out on the hard wooden floor well enough to get a quick cat nap in.  
He hoped the owner-maintainer of the place couldn't tell that a few of the cute little mouse skulls had been juggled until one fell and got itself cracked against one of those barely used candles.  
Puma also liked that the candles were all placed exactly on the five points of the sloppily finger painted, rust red stars. Kind of detracted from the inconsistency of the lines themselves.

Come to think of it, he'd nearly wet himself the first time he'd stumbled his way upon all that. But since then, he'd learned to appreciate it for the constant Día Dé Muertos celebration that it looked like it was. If you squinted at it _real_ hard. With only one eye at a time. Through your fingers.

After the somewhat satisfying, hard wood for a bed, nap, Puma was pretty sure it was that time when the gym using Luchadores took their leave of the Temple.  
He sneaked to a place high above where he could watch the security clearance exit without fear of being spotted. No one ever looked up _before_ leaving anyway.  
He watched with a mirthful smile as Drago just growled when asked to show his Luchador ID. Those poor security officers! They should've known better by then!

Sexy Star left the building next, gracing both security folks with a smile and showing her badge almost with pride. Go Sexy!

After a stretch of several minutes, a bored looking Ivelisse and Son Of Havoc flashed their IDs and trudged out, onto the open road.

Eventually, all the Luchadores Puma hadn't known were there that day had left and he'd nearly forgotten about the one he'd been trying to avoid.  
Johnny Mundo seemed to be last fighter out of the building, save Puma, and for some reason, he seemed to be dragging his feet.

"Hey. How's it been?" Mundo asked the security as he flashed his ID for them. Why they needed to see ID on the way _out_ was a mystery to him, but he rolled with it all the same.

"Eh, slow day," one of them answered.

"Yeah. Good for anyone using the gym, at least."

"I'd expect so," said the other.

"Say, either of you seen... Never mind. Have a good evening," Johnny politely moped, turning around to exit the Temple walking backwards. Searching its bowels for... something...  
Not at all creepy.

Puma watched that exchange while plastered as flat as he could get himself to the shadows above everyone's heads. Was Johnny- Had Mundo been about to ask about _him_?

Well, even the stragglers gone for the day; it was about time Puma got himself something to eat, something to slake his thirst -he really should have brought a milk box with him to his and the mystery creepoid's secret hiding spot-, and made a visit to the hospital.  
Konnan hadn't asked him to visit, but he didn't like the idea of the guy going stir crazy all by his lonesome.  
Puma definitely wasn't gonna tell him all about his day though. That stuff was best left unshared. Never spoken of. Locked behind still hands.

That thought had Puma wondering, as he made his covert way down to the main floor, to the locker room for a quick change, to the cantina to grab a refreshment, and out the Temple altogether: Why was Johnny Mundo thinking about him? What did those incomplete, overheard questions and statements mean? What was going on in that Luchador's head!?

 

If only Johnny Mundo had finished those sentences, he might have seen Puma that day. Maybe.  
If only.

**Author's Note:**

> Was I correct? Did this installment indeed tickle the funny bone as well as yank at the heartstrings?  
> Will these Luchadores eventually just hug it out? Or should we expect more of the same in the near future for their rocky relationship? Well... more of _similar_ anyway.  
>  Perhaps we'll get some answers next week! Until then, Peace!  
> ~Anonymous


End file.
